


Left behind on Christmas Eve

by littlemisscurious



Series: Professor!Tom [1]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Professor!TomHiddleston, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: AU Fiction, F/M, NSFW, professor!tom, professor/student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 15:03:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4440419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemisscurious/pseuds/littlemisscurious





	Left behind on Christmas Eve

 

Wrapping her coat tighter around her, Natasha stepped onto the Front Court of King’s College. Snow had begun to fall from the grey skies and the empty space made her feel even lonelier than she had before. The Christmas mass at the big chapel to her right was long over and most of the students and almost all of the professors had gone home for the holidays. She’d have the library to herself for sure.

Her flat was empty too. Emily and Sarah were both spending the holidays at their parents’ in Glasgow and Cardiff, respectively, and had left a few days ago already, excited and happy to leave their college life and commitments behind for a while. Natasha didn’t have any family to go home to, at least none that cared enough to invite her. A rich uncle, her father’s brother and a man she was sure she had never met in her life, paid for her college education and for her accommodation but that didn’t mean he’d spend time with her as well, Christmas or not.

Sure, there was one person she would have loved to spend the holidays with but she also knew that wasn’t going to happen. And although she was aware that she’d have to stop daydreaming, because what they have - _no had_ \- was long over and probably forgotten by him, she simply couldn’t delete it from her mind so easily. The way he had whispered her name as his fingers dug into her hips; how he had hovered over her, his eyes half-closed, his lips parted, his hips meeting hers again and again. How was she supposed to forget all that, forget those blissful moments she had been able to spend with him and him alone?

 

The heels of her shoes clicked on the floor when she walked across Webb’s Court and into the library, narrowly avoiding slipping and falling on the wet, snow-covered stone floor. As she had expected,, though, she was on her own and once she had let herself inside and chosen a table on the small landing, right by one of the windows, she tried to no longer think of his blue, mesmerising eyes but instead of _Electra_ , Euripides’ play that she’d have to analyse for one of her seminars on Ancient Greek literature.

 

When he heard someone enter the library, a quiet sigh had left his mouth. He had so hoped to be on his own that afternoon, to enjoy the peace and quiet of these otherwise so busy halls. Sat in the Mundy Room, right by the window with an excellent view of the Gibb’s Building, the Chapel, and the Back Lawn he had wanted to prepare the lessons for the next year and maybe he’d even find time to work on the next chapter of his book on Ancient Greek playwrights. Now, though, he’d be wondering who else was here with him, who else was stuck at the college on Christmas Eve instead of going home like all the others.

He took another sip of his water, hoping sincerely it would magically turn into whiskey or at least an ale but alas it didn’t so he placed the bottle aside again and instead stared at the snowflakes falling onto the ground outside.

***

He heard the footsteps too late and by the time he had realised someone was joining him in his little sanctuary, she was already standing in the room, her gorgeous curves clad in a simple black dress and her hair pulled back half-heartedly into a messy ponytail. Her glasses, the one he knew she needed desperately to read but which she almost never wore out of vanity unless she knew herself to be along, had slid down her nose a little and when she gazed at him over the black rim, she looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I hadn’t known anyone else was here,” she stammered, holding onto her notepad for dear life as she backed away again, bumping into the bookcase on her way out.

Quickly, he got up, holding out his hand although both knew he was too far away to actually catch her if she fell. “No, no it’s fine. It’s all good. Please, go and look for whatever you need,” he replied quickly, trying hard not to get distracted by her large, brown eyes and plump lips. The way she looked at him, hopeful yet also sad, he could only fathom what she was thinking. It probably wasn’t too different from his own thoughts.

 

There was rarely a day where he didn’t long to have her back in his flat, back in his arms, back in his bed, writhing and sighing underneath him. He knew it was wrong, that it could cost him his job, his reputation. But it had felt so good to be with her, to be _within_ her.

Clearing his throat, he sat down again and forced himself to look away. She, however, remained standing where she was, her eyes still fixed on him. His white shirt clung to his chest underneath his open, black cardigan and he looked much more like a student than a professor. As opposed to his lectures, he was now sporting a bit of scruff on his face and his normally tamed hair was messed up a little because his fingers had run through it again and again almost like hers had done all these weeks ago. She wondered if it was still as soft as it had been back then and her fingers twitched, eager for contact with his skin.

 

She had forgotten by now what book she had wanted to get so she turned away again to return to her things. “Merry Christmas, Mr Hiddleston,” Natasha said quietly, a faint smile on her lips, before she stepped down the stairs and walked along the short landing back to her desk..

“Merry Christmas to you too, Natasha,” he replied, not sure if she had even heard him still.

***

She couldn’t be sure who was more surprised when he stood next to her desk an hour or so later, she or he himself. His brown, leather book bag was slung over his shoulder and his coat was scrunched up in his hands as he stepped next to her.

“Why are you here, all on your own, Natasha?,” he asked quietly and she looked up at him, silent for a moment.

“Because I have nowhere else to go or be. Why are you here, Mr Hiddleston? It’s Christmas Eve after all,” she stated, trying so very hard to hide her Russian accent that shone through every now and then, especially when she was nervous.

“Because I have nowhere else to go or be either,” he replied, a small smile playing on his lips. He knew what he was about to do was wrong in so many ways but he couldn’t help it, not with her. “Why don’t you come back with me? It’s much nicer to cook for two and that way neither of us would be alone on this night,” he said, pretending to be much more confident than he was.

“It’s just for dinner, maybe a film, nothing else,” Thomas quickly added when she stared up at him, lost for words apparently. Her nod came slowly and after some hesitation. He could see and feel that she was nervous but he was determined to behave. It was dinner on Christmas Eve, nothing more. _Or so he thought._

***

Ever the gentleman, he helped her out her coat once they had arrived at his modest little house not too far away from campus. Placing her coat and bag in the small coat room just off the hallway, he then led her through to his open-plan kitchen and living room area. Books covered the surface that was supposed to be the dining table but he was generally too lazy to go upstairs into his study and admittedly, he tended to eat while working anyway - or was it work while eating?

“Please, forgive the mess,” he muttered, clearing a few of the books and papers away, but she only smiled.

“It’s okay. I’ve always liked the ‘mess’,” she said quietly and he stopped attempting to tidy up as he saw her warm, yet shy smile.

Leaving everything as it was after all, he proceeded to walk into the kitchen and after a glimpse into his fridge, he scratched his neck, embarrassed, before turning towards her once more. “Um, seems as if I forgot to go shopping again,” he muttered and she couldn’t help but chuckle quietly. He was so forgetful sometimes, she thought, and walked around the small kitchen island to look into his fridge herself.

 

As she passed the granite worktop, she couldn’t help but blush and she hoped he wouldn’t see it in the dimmed light. Once more her mind wandered back to this hot day in August where he had taken her right here with her breasts pressed against the cold surface and her skirt hiked up around her waist.

Was he remembering it too, Natasha wondered, as he met her professor’s gaze before he looked away quickly. Trying to distract herself, thereafter, she opened the fridge door and peeked inside. It was truly a miserable sight but at least he had a few bottles of white wine in there, one of which she got out and handed to him so he could open it. He did so while she checked the freezer and probably to both their relief, she pulled out two pizzas not long after.

“Seems like we won’t starve after all,” she winked and went on to turn on the oven. She knew where everything was in his house. Many afternoons, evenings, nights, even mornings had been spent here, talking, laughing, cooking, making slow, sweet love, or having rough, passionate sex on pretty much every surface available. In that respect both had been insatiable and they had loved it while it lasted.

***

It didn’t take long until dinner was served and the first two glasses of wine had helped them relax. His cardigan lay discarded over the other chair by now and her ponytail had been opened almost at the same time. He wondered if she realised she was still wearing her glasses but he didn’t say anything because he liked it so when they slipped down her nose. She’d push them back up with the tip of her index finger before continuing to gesticulate with her hands as she spoke. It reminded him of himself. He knew he was unable to talk without using his hands and it had embarrassed him sometimes until he had realised she did it too and it looked so utterly adorable.

He cleared away their plates after a while and as she refilled their glasses, he watched her for a moment. Her skin shimmered in the pale light of his makeshift Christmas tree that he had put up only two days ago and which he thought looked absolutely pathetic. She had admired it earlier, though, and she had gazed at it, telling him that she didn’t have one in her dormitory, which was a shame, albeit only a logical decision on her side. Having a Christmas tree just for herself was a waste of resources she had said, before smiling sadly. Maybe that was the moment he had realised he wouldn’t let her go too easily. But then again, maybe it already had been the moment she had taken the first sip of her wine and had closed her eyes as she savoured its taste. She had licked her lips, her pink tongue darting out ever so briefly, reminding him of the time when her lips had been wrapped around him that one morning while the sun had been beating down onto them both in his bedroom in the attic.

 

He smiled when he returned to the table. She was humming a Christmas song, one leg tucked underneath her, causing her dress to ride up a little and thereupon exposing the top of her stockings. Holding out his hand to her, he asked her wordlessly to dance with him and she accepted with nothing but a smile herself.

It felt so good to have her in his arms again, to hold her close, her cheek resting against his own. He began to hum a song himself now, swaying along to the tune, that was somehow off but still perfect for them both on this cold winter night. Her hand rested in his, pressed against his chest while her other wandered slowly from his shoulder along his neck and into his hair. He sighed quietly, his warm breath wafting past her ear, and Natasha smiled with her eyes closed.

 

“Stay with me tonight,” he begged quietly, no longer caring about humming a song but instead determined on making her _hum_ , at least for a start.

“Would that be such a good idea, Mr Hiddleston? You are my professor after all,” Natasha whispered, her fingertips still gliding along his scalp and her lips now dangerously close to his ear.

“Call it an extracurricular activity if you like, Natasha,” he growled, his hand that had previously rested on her waist now moving down towards her pert posterior. A quiet gasp left her mouth as his fingertips moved ever so slightly between her legs and he knew he’d get what he want by the end of the night, although probably much, _much_ earlier already.

“And what would you want to teach me?” Her lips were almost meeting his now as she gazed up into his eyes, waiting for his response. His lips curled up in a smile before he whispered, “What about the sublime notion of delayed gratification?”

 

Natasha bit her lips after a surprised shriek had left them. He had turned her towards the table and while she was pushing herself off the surface now with her hands, he lifted up her dress until it revealed her panty-clad bum and rested loosely around her hips.

“It’s so easy to just rip someone’s clothes off and make them come,” he whispered into her ear from behind while his hand dipped between her legs, also from behind. “But isn’t it so much more pleasurable to prolong this feeling of excitement, to _fully_ enjoy the numerous ways our body responds to physical intimacy?”

His tongue ran slowly up her neck as his fingers began to touch her through her soaked panties. She was so wet already and her breaths were coming in such short intervals that he knew she wouldn’t last long this first time. But still he wanted to draw it out, wanted to relish every second of having her here, right at his mercy.

“Please, no,” she gasped and one of her hands moved towards her mound. Quickly, he grasped it and moved it back towards the table’s surface as he tutted at her.

“Oh no, darling. You have to play by the rules. No touching yourself unless I tell you to, you hear me?”

A shaky “O-okay” left her lips and she gripped the surface harder, causing her knuckles to turn white.

“That’s a good girl,” Thomas smiled. “You deserve to be rewarded for your compliance,” he added quietly while his fingers pushed the soaked fabric aside and slipped between her folds. His trousers tightened at the sound of her gasp and at the feel of her wet and heated centre. Yet, he wanted to make this about her first and as best as he could he ignored his erection that was straining the fabric of his jeans.

 

Natasha could already feel her head spin at the touch of him and at the sound of his voice as he kept whispering into her ear, promising her all the wonderful things he’d do to her later. For now, though, he was still torturing her with his fleeting contact, with his fingers that promised so much before retreating once more.

When he entered her at last, it came unexpected nonetheless. He filled and stretched her with his fingers, pumping in and out, slow at first but quickening after. Her heart was threatening to burst within her chest and she could feel the knot within her tightening with every time he thrust inside her again.

“Oh god, please,” she begged, her voice sounding more like a whine than anything else. But just as she was about to explode, just as she was about to hurtle over the edge, he pulled out of her and took a step back, leaving her panting and frustrated and, not to forget, dripping wet.

 

Just as she was about to complain, using using the array of expletives she had learned while living in England, she could hear him unbuckling his belt and a smile crept onto her lips. The rasping sound of his zip followed and soon she could see his trousers dropping onto the floor in the corner of her eyes.

Natasha bit her lip as she waited for him, not knowing how hard it had been for him too to hold back all this time. His eyes wandered over her body and with one swift move, he took off her dress and bra before turning her around to face him. Her cheeks were flushed and covered with a sheen of sweat and her soft breasts rose with every breath she took. Without taking her eyes off him, she sat down on the table and spread her legs, inviting him to take her as she knew by now he had wanted to all this time.

Their lips met in a heated kiss just at the same time as he filled her to the hilt and they both moaned against the other’s lips. Her hands fumbled for hold on his shirt and neck and his pressed against her hips and the cold, hard surface of his dining table as the old and worn piece of furniture creaked with every single one of his thrusts.

She came, quickly and loudly, and as she fell apart underneath him her back arched away from the table, giving him the most wonderful view of her parted lips, her perfect breasts, her shaved mound. He thrust into her a few more times, prolonging her orgasm until he came himself, her name falling off his lips like a prayer in this holy night.

Still joined with her, he gathered her up in his arms and carried her over to the sofa where she kept clinging onto him, her body pressed against his own, her breath still as erratic as his own while he grew limp within her.

 

It was very, very late by the time they eventually fell asleep in each others arms and he had lost count of how often he had made her gasp his name that night. What he hadn’t lost count of, though, was the number of times he had wanted to say those three important words to her but never found the courage. At least not until she had uttered them herself only to fall asleep right after, no longer hearing his reply, his gentle, tender _“I love you, too,”_ after he had received the only Christmas present he had wanted this year - her and her love.


End file.
